Drunken Shot
by missysillivan
Summary: She was drunk – drunk as hell. And it was entirely his fault that she shot him.//Rated for Language


**Drunken Shot**

By: Missysillivan

Summary: She was drunk – drunk as hell. And it was entirely his fault that she shot him.

_I decided that I would try out a different category and swim in untested waters. Rated for language._

**Disclaimer: I, Missysillivan, do not, have not, and never will own Cowboy Bebop.**

**Edited: 4/11/2011**

* * *

She was drunk – drunk as hell.

The lines were blurred, the sky was the ground, the ground was the sky, and everything seemed to just mesh together.

She wasn't even sure she was walking as straight as she thought she was. She just knew that she was moving forward – a possible miscalculation as the building that was directly in front of her was growing conspicuously smaller – and there was a pressure on her upper arm.

A sharp breeze blew through the street – a coastal wind coming in from the bay that they were docked in – sending a shiver up her spine and an urge to wrap her arms around herself. A jacket – a blue, suit-like jacket, that smelled of oil and smoke – was placed on her shoulders and she thought that she heard something said to her, but she wasn't sure.

She was drunk – drunk as hell.

The only thing clearly being relayed to her brain was that there was a pressure on her upper arm, dragging her along the street towards the dock where the ship was located – hopefully, anyway; she wouldn't put it past the crew to leave without her.

When the wall of bricks that was warm air hit her, she finally let out the pitchy screech she had been holding in since seeing him enter the bar.

"Why? Why now?" She thrashed around her body, the pressure growing tighter on her arm – such familiar hands – as her body was suddenly flung into a solid chest. Arms wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms at her sides, relentless and strong. She screamed and withered in the grip until all of her energy left her – leaving her drained and ready to just fall into an endless sleep.

"Are you done?" The voice had only reached the outer consciousness, barely registering in her alcohol poisoned brain. She focused on the arms – the relentlessly strong arms – in an attempt to stay awake. The figure holding her shook her slightly – an attempt to get her attention? – and said something to another figure on the other side of the room. She hadn't paid any attention, just focused on the arms that were holding her up.

"Move her into her bedroom." She heard the familiar voice say from the other side of the living space. "She'll need to sleep off the alcohol."

She let out a feral growl and made an attempt to get her captor to release her, but instead the arms tightened around her body, leaving her gasping for air.

"Stop it, Faye." The voice commanded her.

Then they were moving once again. This time, going up a stairwell and down a hallway made of metal. When she was deposited on the – soft, comforting, calming – mattress, a sigh escaped her and she promptly passed out.

When she woke up, the beginnings of a massive hangover hit her like a Mac truck and she was left momentarily breathless. She didn't move for a long time, not until she heard the door slide open and then close after a lithe figure stepped inside.

"I know you're awake." Pain grasped at her heart at the sound of his voice. She turned to face him, wincing at the light that came from the small lamp beside her bed.

She didn't reply verbally, just flipped him off and curled into her ball.

"What were you thinking? You nearly drank yourself into a coma!" The figure hissed.

"As if you get a say," She snapped back, turning so her back now faced him. "…fucking hypocrite."

She heard a long list of curses fly from his mouth, but didn't care – really, when had she ever? – and promptly began humming a soft tune to herself to drone out his voice. Why couldn't he just leave, leave the ship, Jet, Ed, Ein, _her,_ and never return like he promised the _last_ time he left? Why did he have to return to them after so many months of grieving and heart ache? What was he trying to accomplish by returning?

"Shut the fuck up!" She bolted up right and glared daggers into his mismatches eyes. "And leave me the hell _alone_!"

He paused and just stared straight back into her jade eyes, unflinching, even when she whipped out her Glock and aimed it at his chest.

"I'm not fucking around. Get the fuck out of my room and leave me the fuck alone."

"Is 'fuck' the word of the day?" A shot rang out and brown, mismatched eyes glanced to the side, only to see three pieces of his green main slowly fall to the ground. "Still a bad aim, I see."

Her hand was shaking, even as she aimed it once again at his chest. "Stop fucking around with me and just leave me the hell alone." And then, as if an after-thought, she added, "Next time I won't miss."

He just shrugged and made to take a step forward – but was abruptly stopped by a bullet ripping through his left shoulder, dangerously close to his heart.

"That bitch…" And then he was on the ground.

* * *

Jet stared at the mess that was his friend and then turned his beady eyes to the wreck of a woman sitting at the table, dutifully cleaning her weapon. She hadn't raised her eyes to him – or anyone else for that matter – since she walked out of her room, shouting that there was a mess that he needed to clean up. And what a shock he got when he came across the puddle of blood Spike was lying face first in. Jet knew that the woman before him was going to take the news of Spike's return badly, which was why he had wanted her to come back to the Bebop so she could find out face to face – and he still curses the day that Spike learned how to use a communicator. Had Spike not spoken when Jet was online with her, she would have never gone to that bar and gotten herself shit-faced drunk, then Spike never would have had to drag her back to the Bebop – although he did offer to go after Jet had already announced that _he_ would – and then Spike never would have gone into that room to speak to her and try to explain himself while she was at the beginning of a hangover.

Jet mused that even if she had come back to the Bebop instead of the bar, he couldn't have completely foreseen Spike not coming out of the situation without _at least_ a bullet hole or two. So maybe her going to the bar just delayed the inevitable.

At the sound of a groan coming from the mummy, Jet immediately moved to get water to help Spike swallow down the pain relievers.

"…fucking shot me." Spike hissed out, sitting up slowly and sending a glare towards the uncaring woman.

"You're fault." She didn't look up from her gun. "I told you to leave."

"Didn't mean you had to shoot me!"

"You had it coming."

Spike let out a growl and clenched his fist, face going red as he struggled to not leap over the table and strangle her.

"Hey, knock it off you two!" Jet snapped, returning with the water and pills.

"She started it." Spike snapped, pouting like a two year old.

"Actually you did." Jet and Spike watched as Faye stood up, cocked her gun, and moved to the main hatch. "I'm going to go shoot some pigeons."

Spike paused a moment before glancing to Jet. "She isn't being serious, _right_?"

Jet just sighed and moved to follow her. "I better go stop her…"

Spike watched him go with something between amusement and pure shock across his face. His look changed instantly the moment Ed came stampeding through the room like an elephant running to its water hole with Ein tagging along behind her.

Ed gave Spike a weird look and slammed down Tomato on the table between them. "Spike-person now mummy-person? Strange, very strange..."

"Speaking of strange." Spike narrowed his eyes at the teen girl, who wasn't fazed by the look at all. After several minutes of silence – that had followed a whole minute of yelling and random gun shots – Spike had decided that he disliked silence very much, especially awkward silences, well awkward on his part, he didn't think that Ed could even tell that he was uncomfortable. She was having the time of her life searching the web. "So…what are you doing?"

Ed glanced up at him before zoning in her vision to the computer screen once again. "Deleting all records of Spike-person's death." How she could say that in the straightest of faces, he'll never know.

"Excuse me?"

Ed glanced up once again and locked eyes with the older man. "Spike-person died and then un-died, so died records must be killed."

Deciding to just let her be and not get into any more confusing explanations, Spike decided he once again like silence and stopped talking. It was then Faye came stomping into the room looking like a child that just got sent to time out.

"I'm supposed to say I'm sorry, but I'm not going to. Just that you should remember that _you_ left _us_ and you_ deserved_ to be shot." And with that she stormed out of the room as Jet walked back in.

"What was that about?"

Jet sighed and waved him off. "Just go say sorry. I'm not letting either of you live here if I have to keep fixing bullet holes in the hull of the ship."

With a deep breath and a strained muscle, Spike was up and dejectedly walking up the stairs and towards the Valentine's personal quarters.

* * *

She didn't bother to look up at the knock that resonated off her steel door. She knew who it was, and she really didn't feel like talking to him, let alone see him. She shifted, pulling the blanket over her body, and closed her eyes, hoping that just ignoring the unwanted visitor would send the message to go-away.

But she had no such luck.

The familiar _whoosh_ of the door opening was heard before two steps echoed hollowly off the cold metal walls. She stared at the wall before her – back to the door and _him_ – and unconsciously pulled the blanket even farther up her body.

"I'm sorry."

His voice, so detached, and yet the hint of emotion, reverberated through the room, an echoing chant pulsing in her ears.

"I suggest you leave. My gun is loaded."

He flinched at her words – more so to the dead tone she spoke them with – and let out a sigh, hand reaching behind his head and scratching at his green mane.

"I was being serious." She added, still not moving to look at him.

"Will you let me explain myself?" He tried.

At that she sat up. And he couldn't stop the flinch from revealing itself at the cold, murderous look in her jade eyes. She was tense, her arm muscle gaining a sporadic spasm under the taught pressure her body was being put under. She was pale, paler than usual, and her violet hair hung limply in front of her face, partially hiding her hatred filled eyes from view.

"What is there to explain?" She snapped. "You left us, unconcerned about anything other than that _woman_."

He let out a growl. "It's not like you'd never left before! And if I remember correctly, you cleaned out our savings each time you did so!"

"But I came back!"

"As did I!"

"Only after making us believe you were _dead_!" At this point she was standing and slowly making her way towards him. Glock in hand. "I never went missing for months while my friends all thought I was dead and never coming back!"

There was a pause, neither sure of how to speak the words running through their heads.

Anger.

Regret.

Denial.

Guilt.

Betrayal.

Loneliness.

It was all read between the lines as their eyes met each other's glares and held on tight for the peak of the roller coaster.

Finally after several minutes, he sighed and looked away, mismatched eyes training on a speck on the wall behind her head.

"I'm sorry." He glanced back, trying to meet her fallen gaze. "Can you forgive me, Faye?"

"I don't know, Spike." She looked up to meet shades of brown, tears fighting her control and rolling down her flushed porcelain cheeks. "I really don't know."


End file.
